


Starstruck

by draculard



Category: Santa Clarita Diet (TV)
Genre: Abby realizes she's gay, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 15:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: It feels like every moment in Abby's life has led to this.





	Starstruck

It’s just cold enough for Abby to need her jacket, but she’s not sure it’s the wind that’s giving her goosebumps. Someone has strung fairy lights over the door of the bar and they twinkle over her head; when she looked up at them, she feels blinded, like there are stars stuck in her eyes.

When she looked back at Winter, she still feels blinded, just in a different way.

Winter is all she can see.

They first kiss tastes like maraschino cherries and whisky; it sounds like faint guitar music and loud conversations at the bar, everybody drunk and shouting to be heard.

It feels good. It feels right; like a puzzle piece has just slotted itself into place, triggering some sort of foreign response in Abby’s brain — a chain reaction that says _this, now, her._ She’s never kissed a girl before; how is that possible? Looking back on her life now, it seems like the only possible path to take. Every moment, every memory, has led to this.

And when they pull apart, and all Abby can think about is the soft warmth of Winter’s lips, Winter asks — ludicrously —

“Are you alright?”

Stunned, Abby can only nod. How could she be anything else? How _has_ she been anything else, how has she lived without kissing Winter before now?

“It’s just,” Winter says, and gives a nervous laugh. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. “It’s just, you look a little starstruck.”

They stare at each other. Abby feels herself grinning, and she _feels_ it when Winter smiles back. She feels that smile deep in her chest, like it’s a warm spot blooming in her heart.

“I guess I _am_ , a little,” Abby says. “Trust you to find the perfect word for it.”

Then there are long, slender fingers curled in her denim jacket, pulling her closer. Then there’s the taste, again, of cherries and whiskey, and the flash of fairy lights overhead.

 _I could live in this moment forever,_ Abby thinks. She pulls Winter closer.

She’ll never let go.


End file.
